


Now, dearest comrade, lift me to your face

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Post-TRoS, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Finn makes it back from a dangerous mission; Poe's there to help him home.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 9
Kudos: 83
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Now, dearest comrade, lift me to your face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pseudofoucault333](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudofoucault333/gifts).



> title from Whitman / thanks to [X] for the beta <3

When Finn hobbles down the _Falcon_ 's ramp, Poe's waiting for him. Rather than quicken his stride, like he usually does when he spots Poe or Rey, Finn continues shuffling forward. He's holding himself awkwardly while hauling an overpacked bag, its strap slung across his chest like Chewie's bandolier. 

Poe closes the distance between them, wrapping Finn in a big hug that rocks side to side. Finn holds on, face buried against Poe's neck, and sucks in deep, shaky breaths.

"You good?" Poe asks, pulling back a little. They have to clear the ramp for the rest of the squad; hands clasped, they find a quiet spot halfway around the ship. Poe keeps himself between Finn and base. "Finn?"

Finn's face is streaked with sweat and ash. His hand shakes when he tries to wipe his forehead. "Made it back."

"A good first step, sure." Poe's hands settle on Finn's shoulders. "What happened?"

They'd been delivering supplies to one of the ex-trooper camps on Takodana when a gang of other, older colonists swept through. When the smoke cleared, two of Finn's people were critically injured, several trooper huts torched, and the camp's tip-yip hatchery destroyed.

"That was going to feed them for three seasons or so," Finn says. 

Poe thinks about making a joke, something like _can't build a new society without crushing a few hatcheries_. But Finn looks so anxious, sounds so miserable, that Poe files the joke away for later.

"On the way back, we put in at Ord Mantell —" At the name, Poe whistles and Finn nods. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Let's get you more comfortable." Poe takes him by the arm and Finn starts to shake him off, then seems to catch himself. "Sitting down, maybe some food? Then you can explain what the _hell_ you thought you'd accomplish on Ord fucking Mantell."

"I should —" Finn turns, lips parted, but doesn't say anything else.

"You can do whatever it is later. Rest now."

Poe steers Finn carefully around the back of the _Falcon_ and toward the warren of ramshackle port outbuildings they've been using as temporary housing. "Temporary" has taken on a whole new meaning, of course, just like "peace" and "victory" have. Time lasts much longer than he ever would have thought, and peace is a lot more raucous and dangerous, victory more conditional and fragile.

"Ord Mantell?" Poe asks Chewbacca when they pass. "Seriously?"

Chewie shrugs but has the decency to look slightly downcast. His yowl is throaty and sad.

"Not his fault," Finn murmurs. He stumbles and Poe draws him closer.

"He should know better."

Behind them, Chewie grumbles.

"Oh, you do?" Poe asks over his shoulder. "Funny way of showing it!"

"Poe," Finn says. "Leave him alone."

He has stopped short and twists out of Poe's hold. 

"What? I'm pissed! The fuck was he thinking?"

"It was my idea. We needed the credits, had to do something for the destroyed camp, I thought maybe —"

Poe can see it all too well; the entire scene assembles itself instantly, from the argument on the bridge to Finn striding out into the shadowport's scrapyards, determined and brave and in way over his head.

"Did it work?" Poe asks softly.

They're standing in the shadow of an old freight gantry. Light hits the top half of Finn's face, tracing out his tired eyes and the puckers of his frown.

"Not really," he replies, just as quietly.

His admission is so simple, so full, that grief gushes over Poe, clawing at his throat and gurgling in his chest. They're moving closer, but Poe only realizes because the warm evening light is flowing down Finn's face, finding his mouth, the flickering glimpse of teeth and tongue.

"I'm sorry," Poe says in the half-beat before their kiss. 

Finn wraps his arms around Poe, less an embrace than desperate clutch. The strap on his bag gives way, but he doesn't seem to notice. Poe isn't about to say anything that would stop this. These kisses will never be familiar or rote; each time they light him up in a new pattern, make him ache and hope for more, squeeze him breathless, gasping.

Finn gentles the kiss, finally simply resting his forehead against Poe's, their sore lips brushing lightly.

"Some days, I don't even know —" He stops and adjusts his arms around Poe. One arm around Poe's waist, the other folded up between them to touch Poe's neck, the side of his head. Finn tangles his fingers in Poe's hair and exhales raggedly.

"It's all right," Poe says. When Finn gulps on another breath, Poe adds, rushing, "it's not _all_ all right, you know what I mean. But right now, here, it is."

Finn buries his face against Poe's neck and sways. His nails scrape Poe's scalp as his breathing comes fast and rough.

"Maybe it isn't okay, I don't know," Poe says. 

The pressure and familiar weight of Finn's body against his fills up his thoughts and describes their farthermost limits. He knows its textures and planes, the rasp of callused fingers and the tenderness of most private skin, both between the twin tendons of his neck and arching up between his thighs. The sharp, light sourness that gathers around him in sleep and the brilliance of his eyes when they find Poe in a crowd or watch Rey.

"Let's go," Finn says, pulling back and upward, reassuming his perfect posture and mild expression. He still grasps Poe's hand, however, bone-grindingly hard. He hefts his bag under his other arm before setting off toward the bunks. "Need to lie down."

"Good," Poe says, quickening his steps to keep up.

"Need to feel you, too," Finn continues as they duck into the first entry and descend the metal steps. The duracrete walls are damp and cracked; they make their way in the dim light for their quarters. "Really need that."

"All yours," Poe reminds him when they finally get inside. He latches the sliding door and turns, arms spread, to offer himself as theatrically as possible. "Enjoy yourself."

He doesn't have Finn's talent for thinking long-term and multi-scale. He solves problems that are in front of him — blow it up, or feed them, or whatever's necessary — but he's not a philosopher. He's never going to analyze, let alone understand, the _why_. That's for minds like Finn's, like Leia's.

What he can do is what he's best at: act and react, touch and hold, speak and sing, out of conviction and passion. 

He settles Finn on the mattress and undresses him. He doesn't hurry, but he doesn't dawdle, either. He does what they both need, gets them skin-to-skin and kissing again, straddles Finn as Finn lies back. Beneath him, Finn's skin is warm; tired trembles run across his muscles and set Poe quivering, too.

"Feel me?" Poe asks and Finn laughs against his mouth. His hands wander down Poe's back, cup his ass, then slide down his thighs. They're both stiffening and Poe licks his palm, making sure Finn watches, before reaching between them to stroke Finn all the way hard. "Feel that?"

"Yeah," Finn keeps murmuring, repeating the word dreamily. His lids are heavy, his mouth curved. "Oh, yeah. _Yeah_."

Poe kisses him some more until the angle of his arm starts becoming impossible rather than merely painful-to-agonizing. Finn mutters something when Poe sits back on his heels, still straddling Finn's legs, to jack him strong and slow.

Every line in Finn's body is beautiful. They tense and bunch, then flow and lengthen, his arms and chest, his brows and lips, throat and belly. His mouth hangs open now, his gaze locked on Poe, while his dick jumps in Poe's hand.

Poe smacks his lips and raises his eyebrows. _Shall I?_

Finn nods hurriedly, going up on his elbows to keep watching. "Yeah, yeah, _yeah—_ "

The descent is messy and Poe bangs his elbow on something and his trick ankle is protesting, but none of that matters when he finally gets between the round, flexing gorgeousness of Finn's thighs and his tongue wraps around the head of Finn's dick. He tastes strongly of sweat and exertion, too little sleep and far too much fear. Poe sucks him clean, and then some, bobbing his head until the shaft disappears halfway into his mouth, filling him up, stretching his lips to that perfect point just this side of unbearable.

Finn sits all the way up, eyes round and awed. His fingers skate across Poe's cheek, across his lip, into his hair to cup his skull.

Poe's no philosopher, except of the things right in front of him. Finn, the taste and heat and _presence_ of him, is the best person he's ever known. That much he knows, and knows more deeply than anything.

Maybe Finn feels him knowing it, maybe the Force translates it, who knows, but Finn's eyes are shining as he thrusts into Poe's mouth and says, again and again, _yes_.

That's answer enough.


End file.
